


Reciprocation

by seashadows



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knubbler and Murderface have different ways of helping each other. </p><p>For curiosityband on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reciprocation

  
Fired. Knubbler had been _fired_ , and what was worse – he’d gone to pal around with Nathan afterwards, instead of him. Murderface couldn’t remember the last time he was this pissed off; maybe it was the time that stupid fucking bitch lady Gear actually sued him for _sexual harassment_. “Hey! _Knubbler!_ ” He pounded on the producer’s door (although he guessed it was ex-producer now) and reeled back, hissing and grabbing his sore fist. “Knubbler! Are you in there?”   
  
“That you, Willy?” came Knubbler’s voice from the other side of the black-painted door. Murderface glared at the ouroboros doorknob, as if its tail-gobbling mouth had spoken instead. “I, uh, I guess you heard, huh? I got canned. Presto-change-o, I’m outta here for some other bastard. Or, uh, bitch, I guess.”   
  
Murderface felt pretty fucking stupid talking to a door, but maybe Knubbler didn’t feel like leaving his room. “Yeah, well…Charlesch ish letting you schtay, ischn’t he? It’sh not like you’re homelessch.” He knew how that felt, too. His fucking grandparents got to be way too much pretty early on, so after high school – bing, bang, boom, he left. “Charlesch _isch_ letting you schtay, right? You’re not leaving?”   
  
Man, if Knubbler had to live on the streets with Patches the Pervert like that time when Murderface was nineteen, that would be fucking brutal. He’d tell Nathan to write a song about it if he didn’t know that the memories always made him cry. Instead, he cleared his throat and rapped on the door again. “Knubbler? You dead in there?”   
  
“Nah.” Knubbler’s voice was a little shaky now, too. “I’m just pathetic, babe. You wanna come in? I’ll probably cry all over you. You know, without any tears. Fucking eyes.”   
  
Murderface snorted. “Bring it on. Juscht open the fuckin’ door.”   
  
There was a shuffling noise behind the door before it creaked open. Knubbler’s head was bowed, the ends of his blond hair falling towards the floor – he was right. He _did_ look pathetic. “This is what losing your job looks like, Willy,” he said. “Feast your eyes. Good thing Charles works for _you_ , instead of the other way around.”   
  
“What, you think I’d get fired? I’m a member of fuckin’ _Dethklok_ , Dick.” Murderface crossed his arms. “Ish thisch ‘causche I’m _fat_?”   
  
“Come _on_. Why’s everything gotta be about your weight?” Knubbler shook his head. “This is about _me_. Just…for once, I want something to be about me. The fact that I lost my titty-fuckin’ job.”   
  
“Well, that’sch schelfish.” Murderface stepped back a pace or two; Knubbler’s depression was radiating off him like heat and sweat when Nathan actually worked out, and he didn’t want to catch the sad. “Yeah, okay. You loscht your titty-fucking job. Are you shtill gonna produsche Planet Pissch?”   
  
Knubbler’s head snapped up, and his eyes flickered red. “Hey, Willy, you gotta face reality. That shit’s never gettin’ off the ground, okay? It sucks. I’m not gonna produce that shit if I can’t produce Dethklok.”   
  
“ _Hey!_ ” Murderface strode forward the paces he’d left behind and stared Knubbler in the face, squeezing his shoulders with his (way too fat) palms. It was probably too hard, judging by the way Knubbler winced, but he deserved it for insulting Planet Piss. “Maybe you were juscht a schitty produsher. Ever thought of _that_ , schmart guy?”   
  
Knubbler winced. “Ow. Hey, knock that off, huh? You’re gonna break my shoulders.”   
  
Oh, shit. He hadn’t meant to hurt Knubbler – the guy was the only person in Mordhaus who didn’t think he was a disgusting waste of too much flesh. “Oh. Okay, schorry.” He lowered his hands and backed up a step or two; any more of this and he was going to feel like one of those mechanized toys, the kind that could only go back and forth an inch on a monorail track. “Hey, can I come in? We could watsch porn.”   
  
Knubbler blinked, or at least his electronic pupils did. “Isn’t that kinda gay for you, Will? You’re always saying…”   
  
Oh, man, did he need to get his facts right. “Don’t you remember? The guysch and I jack off at the schame time every day,” Murderface explained. “It’sch more convenient, for…you know, band meetingsh and schtuff. Scho no one’sch misshing ‘causche they went to jack off.” He didn’t know why every other band didn’t do that, but hey, for all he knew, they _did_. Probably copying Dethklok’s metal example.   
  
“Okay.” Knubbler nodded his head once, a visible punctuation mark. “Well, no comment on that, but we could watch a slasher movie or something. There’s porn in that. And naked chicks wavin’ their ta-tas around.”   
  
Attracted to dudes or not, Murderface _did_ still like breasts. They were hot, and he’d never gotten to touch any, so there was that. He liked to imagine that they felt like stress balls, only softer. “Schure. Lemme in.”   
  
Knubbler moved aside and opened the door, and Murderface could have sworn that he felt Knubbler’s small hand on his lower back as he walked through.   
  


~

  
  
“Willy? You gonna wake up for me?”   
  
He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear, and that voice was unmistakably Knubbler’s. “Dick? What’sch going on?” God, it hurt to talk. Fuck, his whole _face_ hurt. It stung and burned under what felt like gauze – oh, _shit_. The surgery. He’d tried to make himself into something that no one would laugh at, and…well, from what he’d seen of himself before he passed out, he’d ended up looking like a human zit.   
  
He didn’t know why he’d been surprised. It went really damn well with his other so-called successes.   
  
“They fixed you. Tried to, at least. Charlie said you should look like yourself maybe a week after they take the bandages off.” A slight pressure on his hand, fingers combing through his…shit, Knubbler was _holding his hand_. The thought flashed through his mind that maybe he should fuck his shit up more often, but that was a gay thought, so Murderface ignored it.   
  
“I don’t know what the fuck you were tryin’ to do, babe,” Knubbler continued. “ _Look_ at you. You gave yourself a fuckin’ nasty infection just to be some stupid ladies’ idea of handsome.”   
  
“Wisch it’d killed me,” Murderface mumbled through his gauze. “The band would be better if I juscht killed myschelf.”   
  
“Don’t say that.” The hand squeezed harder. “I’d miss you if you killed yourself, Will. You’re the only one who talks to me in this stupid goddamn place. Do you really wanna make me sad?”   
  
“It’sch not that shimple,” Murderface said. What did Knubbler think? That just because he liked him, he wouldn’t still be the ugliest son of a bitch this side of a burn ward? “Talking to me won’t make me handschome, or make girlsch schtart wanting to fuck me.”   
  
“Huh.” Knubbler paused, as if anticipating something. “What if I want to fuck you, babe? And don’t try to say it’s gay, ‘cause, heh, who the fuck cares anymore? Idiots. Yeah. That’s who cares.”   
  
“The guysch care.”   
  
“Well, sorry to enlighten you, but they’re idiots, too.” Knubbler’s thumb rubbed the top of his head. “You’re sensitive, Willy. You care, and you tried to give yourself a shitty south-of-the-border chop job just so you could feel like people care.”   
  
“I schupposche you’re schaying _you_ care and that schould be enough for me, right?” He was kind of proud that, even with his mouth partially covered, he managed to scoff.   
  
“Yeah.” Murderface felt his hand being lifted, then pressed against – holy _shit_. Knubbler’s lips. Knubbler was kissing his hand. Either he’d seriously misinterpreted the way the guy felt about him, or the guys had pranked him by spiking his anesthesia with LSD (which he wouldn’t put past them, but in this case, he thought the answer was probably the former). “Once those bandages come off, I’m coming to your room and I’m gonna show you how much I care.”   
  
“Fuckin’ clisché.” God, Knubbler was cheesy.   
  
“Yeah, well, clichés can go take a jump. Babe – you made me feel better a few months ago, didn’t you? I stopped wanting to stab myself after we watched that movie. I like you, and I wanna make you feel better, so you know what I’m gonna do?”   
  
“What?” Murderface asked. If he wasn’t covered with bandages, he would swear he was getting a boner.   
  
“Stuff. Lots of stuff.” Knubbler kissed his hand again. “You’ll have to ask me later and find out.”   
  
“Aw, fuck you.” Murderface yawned. “Dick, you gonna schtay here for a while? I want someone to make schure the guysch don’t draw dicksch on me.”   
  
“If they try, they’ll get a kick to the nuts, babe.” Another squeeze to his hand. “C’mon, go back to sleep. I’ll stay for a while.”   
  
Knubbler might have been even shrimpier than Pickles, but Murderface still felt safer now.


End file.
